


First Sight

by militantblackbabe



Series: On the Bright Side, I’m Now the Fuck Buddy of an Undead Sex God [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Gallavich Week, Gallavich Week - Day 4, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 11:16:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/militantblackbabe/pseuds/militantblackbabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Day 4 of Gallavich Week - Different Worlds. </p><p>In which Ian is a vampire, Mickey is generally unimpressed, and they fuck around anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Sight

Gallagher was taking for-fucking-ever.

They didn’t have to work today – as far as Mickey knew Gallagher didn’t tell his family that though, and they usually spent their days off up here, in the abandoned building three blocks from both their houses, smoking, fucking, and generally just shooting the shit. Mickey was considering taking out his lighter and setting the magazine he was flipping through on fire – one of Mandy’s old issues of Seventeen, don’t even fucking ask alright –when he heard Gallagher’s footsteps coming up the stairs.

“About fucking time,” he said around the straw he was chewing on, loud enough so he knew Gallagher would hear. “I was about to leave, you little bitch.” Shit, now that he was finally here though Mickey was thinking he wouldn’t mind a little bit of afternoon delight. He looked up as Gallagher walked in, spotted the furrowed brow and firm set line of his mouth that were trademarks of his serious face. So much for that idea.

“What the fuck’s got you so down then?” Mickey asked, spitting out the straw, swallowing away the lingering taste of plastic. Gallagher dropped down next to him, and out of the corner of his eye Mickey could see him resting his head against the wall, eyes closed, until he moved to look at Mickey again.

“I need to talk to you about something,” Gallagher said. “It’s really important.”

“Alright, so talk,” Mickey said. Maybe the sooner Gallagher got over whatever the fuck had him acting like such a freak today, the sooner they could do more interesting shit. And by interesting shit Mickey meant maybe like some furious necking and dry humping or something. He refused to acknowledge the way his gut twisted in anxiety when Gallagher turned to look at him, at the shaky breath Mickey watched him draw into his lungs. “What? What the fuck is it?”

“This is hard, alright? Just – fuck it. I can show you better than I can tell you,” Gallagher said, and stood up. Mickey watched as he began to take off his jacket, slipping it off his shoulders. Gallagher was – honestly, he was stripping, is what it looked like to Mickey, but not good, sexy stripping, the kind, if he was honest, he really wouldn’t mind seeing Gallagher engage in – this was sad stripping, the kind of shit that made you feel guilty because the girl in the g-string looked like she had five kids at home and hated her job more than life itself. Mickey felt any beginnings of a boner he might have had while watching Gallagher begin to undress dissipate swiftly, a fart in the fucking wind.

“What the fuck,” Mickey said. “Can you stop that shit? What are you doing?”

Gallagher ignored him – he was lifting his shirt over his head now, and as the shirt was raised from his body Mickey saw something he couldn’t explain: though at first he thought he was just a trick of the light, it was clear that Gallagher’s skin was, for lack of a better word, or any other fucking word, _sparkling_.

Mickey Milkovich was not often speechless – hell, if he wasn’t speaking it was probably because he didn’t feel like saying shit. But, for the first time in a long time, presented with the sight before him, Mickey found himself totally and utterly fucking speechless.

Among the exposed cement wall fixtures, Gallagher shone, literally a diamond in the rough. God. That thought alone was enough to make Mickey want to kill himself. What the hell had screwing Gallagher been doing to his brain all this time? Mickey shot a glance over at a rusty exposed bit of pipe and wondered if that would be the most effective way to perform ritual suicide.

Gallagher’s face was turned away from Mickey. He looked restless – he scratched his head, rubbed his face, fiddled with his pockets, before finally just crossing his arms and turning to Mickey.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner.”

Mickey was trying to listen and process and think and shit but it seemed like his eyes and his ears had stopped working – all he was aware of was Gallagher standing in front of him. More specifically, Gallagher’s exposed skin, pale and shining like the light of a thousand suns-

Oh fuck, what the hell was he thinking. Fucking gay.

“I was afraid of how you’d react.”

Gay gay what the hell is he going on about damn Gallagher has a nice chest shit no gay gay GAY.

Mickey shook his head, running a hand over his face and standing. Gallagher took a step closer – Mickey reached out a hand to stop him before he got any closer. Gallagher stepped back, looked away from Mickey.

Jesus - Mickey was 90% sure those were tears shining in the corners of his eyes.

Mickey chewed on the corner of his lips, looking back and forth from Gallagher’s exposed chest, to the really tight black jeans Gallagher had decided to wear today because apparently he didn’t look faggy enough in his fatigues, and back to his stupid fucking chest, shining like water from a fountain catching a stream of light. He was like he couldn’t stop staring at it, and all he could think of was the cement outside the first daycare he could ever remember going to, the kind of sparkling cement that his mom had told him had diamonds and mermaid shells in it. Jesus, did he really just think the words ‘mermaid shells?’ Only fucking Gallagher.

“This is literally the gayest thing I have ever seen,” Mickey said.

“You’re not afraid?” Gallagher, for whatever strange reason, looked relieved.

“Afraid of what? That you’ll blind me with your faggoty ass skin?” Mickey rubbed a hand through his hair. “Jesus, even your skin is just – you are the literally the gayest fucking person alive, Gallagher.” Mickey took a moment to curse the fact that the guy he’d been hooking up with on the downlow was so damn gay even his skin sparkled. Milkoviches sure did know how to pick ‘em.

“I want you to know – what I am.” Gallagher looked up at Mickey, like he had to force himself to look Mickey in the face. “Mickey, I’m a vampire.”

Mickey snorted, shaking his head and saying the first thing that popped into his mind:

“And I’m fucking the queen of England every Friday night. Fuck off, Gallagher.”

“I’m sorry. I know I should have told you, it’s just-” Gallagher was tripping over his own words. “I never knew it would go this far, you know? With us.”

Mickey pretended not to know what he meant – that they had been fucking regularly for like two years now, and hanging out, kind of a lot actually, and Mickey had gone to juvie because of the kid like twice, and if Mickey was gay that would make them boyfriends but he wasn’t so they weren’t, cause look, fucking in a freezer didn’t make him anything alright, and last time he checked there wasn’t no rule against a coupla guys hanging out every once in a while. Mickey chose that moment not to think about the fact that “hanging out” usually resulted in Gallagher’s cock and his asshole getting intimately reacquainted. Details. Whatever.

“I’ve never told anyone but you, Mickey. You’re - you’re different.”

Mickey didn’t know what the fuck Gallagher was going on about but this shit was getting weird and it was starting to piss him off. Apparently it showed on his face, because Gallagher started talking really fast:

“With vampires, some of us have special skills, right? Mine is that I can read minds. But not yours.”

The fuck?

“I can’t read your mind, Mick. Never could. That’s never happened before, with anyone I’ve ever been with. And as long as I’ve been around, that’s a lot of people.”

Mickey’s eyes narrowed, his mind stuttering on one thing like a bump in the road too big to bike past.

“So how many people were you fucking before me?” _Shit._ In the back of his mind he was wishing he hadn’t let his mouth speak without permission from his brain, because Gallagher looked like he wanted to laugh and his shirt was still off, his skin shining in the sun that streamed in from the glass-less windowpanes, and Mickey didn’t know if this vampire shit was Gallagher’s weird ass idea of a joke or a prank or whatthefuckever but he either wanted to punch him or fuck him really fucking soon, and he didn’t want to give Gallagher the satisfaction of doing either.

“That’s what you’re asking?” Gallagher was grinning now, fuck him. “I tell you I’m a vampire, that I can read everyone’s mind but yours, and you’re asking me about my sexual history?”

Mickey stared at him. He didn’t have time for this shit. Mickey’s dad and brothers were leaving for St. Louis today, doing some illegal shit that Mickey wasn’t allowed to know the details of, and Mandy was glued to Gallagher’s asshole brother in the Gallagher’s house of horrors; by the time he got home he could be walking naked around the place he had all to himself, getting high and making his way through that family-sized bag of pepperoni pizza rolls he knew was still in the freezer. Fuck this noise.

“Want to read my mind, Gallagher? I’ll give you a hint. Two words: one of them is fuck and the other rhymes with cough.”

Mickey started to walk away. He could hear Gallagher getting dressed behind him, apologizing, calling for him to come back. Mickey tossed up his arm, raising his middle finger high.

Out on the street again, alone, Mickey dug out his lighter and the remainder of a joint from his back pocket.

He didn’t know what the fuck had just happened, but whatever it was needed some stronger shit than Marlboro Lights.

 

It felt like three in the morning when he woke up in his bed to find Gallagher standing over him.

Mickey took a long slow breath and forced himself to remain calm.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” he said, each word having to make its way past Mickey’s gritted teeth.

“Window,” was all Gallagher said.

“Were you honest to God watching me sleep just now?” Mickey was not into that shit unless it involved waking up with his dick in someone’s mouth. Since Gallagher was way the fuck over there, and his dick was way the fuck over here, this didn’t qualify as the kind of night time surprise that he liked.

“What the ever-loving fuck, Gallagher?” He didn’t have time for this shit. And if he was honest, he was still a little pissed about earlier, though if you asked him what exactly had made him so irritable he wouldn’t be able to tell you right away. He was maybe even a little mad that Gallagher knew he had the house to himself and yet not once during the entire evening, as Mickey made his way through both The Chinese Connection and The Game of Death, did he hear the fucking doorbell ring. He threw the covers back, getting out of bed to prop open the window. “Look, just get the fuck out. I don’t know what the fuck you’ve been smoking today but I’m really not in the mood for it.”

Gallagher looked him up and down, his eyes resting on Mickey’s sleeping clothes, which were really just whatever shirt he had worn that day and an old, comfortable ass pair of sweats. He finally met Mickey’s eyes again and Mickey raised his eyebrows at him. _Get the fuck out. What are you waiting for, a written fucking invitation?_

“I need to know that you’re ok,” Gallagher said, his eyes all soft and gay and shit. “I want to give you your space, you know, let you process this, but just – can you let me know if you’re ok or not?”

“I’ll be better once I get some fucking sleep,” Mickey said, letting his irritation bleed into his words.

Gallagher walked over to the window, but instead of getting the fuck out, he stopped in front of Mickey, and he could tell – Gallagher had that look in his eye – he wanted to start talking about feelings and all that shit, and holy fuck Mickey was not well-rested or well-fucked enough to be doing this shit.

“Look, I’m sorry if I scared you-“

“Yeah fucking right, like you ever could-“

“I’m just-“ Gallagher reached out his hand and rested it on the wall above Mickey’s head, the stretch of his arm a path leading from his body to Mickey’s. “I’m drawn to you, you know?”

“Jesus,” Mickey said, feeling that familiar flutter in his stomach he always got when Gallagher made a point of getting too close to him.

“I meant it when I said you’re different, Mick,” Gallagher said. “It’s like I can’t get enough of you.” Gallagher’s eyes were roaming his body again. After a moment, Mickey shut the window. He leaned on the windowsill, looking up at Gallagher, at Gallagher in those stupid tight t-shirts he liked to wear and his ridiculous jeans.

“What you trying to get then, Red?” Mickey said, rubbing his lip with one hand and not hiding the way he looked Gallagher up and down. In the back of his mind was the thought that maybe he shouldn’t be willing to fuck someone who seriously seemed to think they were a fucking vampire all of the sudden, but Mickey was always really horny when he woke up so he promptly told that part of his brain to shut the fuck up and let him get the D.

“It’s - your skin,” Gallagher said, taking another step closer to him. “You smell like something I can’t even name.”

Mickey’s eyebrows shot together.

“The fuck you just say to me?”

“No, it’s not – not a bad thing, it’s good,” Gallagher said, a pink flush blooming on his face, like dye dropped into a glass of milk. “Better than good. Your skin smells better than I can even describe, Mick. Like the best thing I could ever hope to taste.”

Mickey felt his upper lip rising in disgust.

“Ok, enough, enough. I get it. Whatever.” He used his arm to knock Gallagher’s down. “Say some shit like that to me again and I will cut off your arm and beat you with it,” Mickey said. _I swear to God._

Gallagher smiled. Mickey turned his back on him and went back to sit on his bed. Fucking Gallagher. He could feel him staring at him again.

“Are we gonna talk about that whole me being a vampire thing?” Gallagher asked. Mickey scoffed, but didn’t push Gallagher out of bed when he crossed the room and sat down next to him, so close to Mickey that the outside of their thighs touched.

“Guess that’d explain that whole biting fetish you got,” Mickey said.

“Didn’t hear any complaints from you.” Gallagher was looking at him, wearing that stupid little smirk of his that usually preceded grabbing Mickey by the shoulders and bending him over the nearest surface. Despite himself, Mickey felt himself getting hard at the thought.

“Fuck no you didn’t,” Mickey said, picking up the beer cans around his bed and shaking them to see if there was anything left inside. He was also trying really hard not to notice Gallagher next to him, smiling at him and - looking at him. It came as no surprise when he felt Gallagher move closer to him, felt the heavy warmth of his hand on his shoulder.

“Seriously, you ok with this, Mick?”

Gallagher’s voice was practically in his ear. From the left side it felt like it was all he could hear.

“What, your paws all over my body?” Mickey said, throwing a pointed look at Gallagher’s hand. Gallagher, for his part, didn’t even pretend like he was going to move it – Gallagher was a defiant asshole like that.

“Me. Who I am. _What_ I am.” Gallagher had this way of sounding so fucking earnest that it made Mickey want to vomit or punch something or do something really fucking stupid like kiss him, especially when it was so quiet and his mouth was so close to his ear, but Mickey had never in his fucking life kissed another fucking dude and he wasn’t about to start now.

Mickey shrugged him off, and began to take off his shirt. It was hot as balls in this house.

“Who says I even believe you?”

“Do you?” Gallagher was watching him and Mickey wasn’t sure if his eyes were so unblinking because he was anxious about Mickey believing his ‘I’m a vampire and I sparkle’ story or because Mickey had taken his shirt off. Knowing Gallagher’s ass though, it was probably both. 

Mickey shrugged. “Jury still out.”

Mickey moved to lie down, reaching for his cigarettes on his way down. He lit one and left it to dangle from his mouth, moving to pillow his hands beneath his head.

Gallagher was watching him like he was afraid to move.

“If you’re a vampire.” Mickey trailed off, running the backs of his fingers down the wall, trying to catch the thought. When he did, he looked up at Gallagher, staring him down. “Why didn’t you just kill me back then? Explain that one, fucker. Why didn’t you just kill me that first time?”

Gallagher smiled, and maybe Mickey kinda liked that he didn’t have to explain what he was talking about.

“Couldn’t you have just killed me and taken the fucking gun if you wanted it so bad?” Mickey continued.

“Maybe I didn’t want to.”

“Why? You get off on having another guy sitting on your chest?” Mickey said. He held the cigarette lazily in his hand, looking at Ian’s shirt and thinking about the skin underneath, trailing his eyes back up Gallagher’s body to his face. He looked at his mouth and imagined fangs hiding behind his lips. He told himself the pleasant twist in his stomach was from memories and not possibilities.

Gallagher shrugged.

“Just you,” he said, looking at Mickey with a small smirk on his face. Mickey passed him the cigarette.

“Not as many as you would think,” Gallagher said, taking the cigarette. He took a slow pull and exhaled, and through the smoke Mickey could see his eyes fixed on him still.

“The fuck you talkin’ about?”

“Earlier today, you asked me about other people,” Gallagher said. “I’ve been alive for…a long ass time, but I don’t – haven’t-“

“Why the fuck you tellin me this shit? I don’t care.” Gallagher met his eyes and just kept talking.

“But even out of those people, you’re still the only one – the only one like you.”

Mickey closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“This sounds like such fucking bullshit Gallagher, just so you know.”

“Wanna see the fangs?”

Mickey’s eyes shot open. Gallagher was looking smug. Mickey forced himself to relax, tried to make his heart slow down.

“Your dollar-store Halloween shit? No thanks.”

Gallagher moved, dropped down onto his forearms and leaning toward Mickey on the bed. His shirt rode up, a pale stretch of skin exposed above the waistband of his jeans that made Mickey want to start palming himself through his pants right then and fucking there. Shit.

“I promise, mine are real,” Gallagher said, looking at Mickey like an animal fixing easy prey in his sights. Mickey didn’t know if he was turned on or freaked the fuck out. Gallagher moved to hand him back his cigarette and Mickey snatched it.

“Fine,” he said.

“Fine what?”

He glared at Gallagher and the stupid fucking smirk on his face.

“Just because you think you’re a vampire now doesn’t mean I won’t still kick your ass from here to Transyl-fucking-vania, Gallagher,” Mickey said. “Show me the fucking fangs or you can get the fuck out.”

“Alright, alright,” Gallagher said, but he was still smirking and Mickey wanted to say fuck his curiosity and kick him out the window on principle alone. “Hey, mind if I take my shirt off too? It’s really hot in here.”

“I don’t care what you do, you fucking pussy,” Mickey said, but he couldn’t take his eyes away from him as he moved – getting up to stand by the bed, facing Mickey. Grabbing the edges of his dark blue shirt and pulling it over his head. The way the muscles in his chest jumped when he moved to throw the shirt away. In the glow of the streetlights, Gallagher’s skin still looked like carved marble shat out by God or some shit.

_Fuck._

“You gonna do another strip tease or you gonna show me the fucking money,” Mickey said, eyes still on Gallagher and not even fully aware of what he was saying anymore, to be completely fucking honest because shit, something was getting fucked tonight and he sure as hell hoped it was his ass and not his own hand later on.

“Who says I can’t do both?” Gallagher said. “If you want.”

“I don’t want shit from you,” Mickey said, hoping Gallagher couldn’t hear how his heart was almost beating out of his goddamn chest, or notice how rock hard his cock was. No such luck though. Gallagher caught sight of the growing bulge in his pants so Mickey propped one leg up, spreading his legs wider, cause he had lived on this earth for almost twenty years now and in all that time he hadn’t ever been ashamed of shit so he sure as hell wasn’t about to start now.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Gallagher said, and his large, pale hands moved to the buckle of his tight black jeans. Mickey watched as he pulled the leather through the loops, keeping his eyes on Mickey the entire time. “Catch,” he said, pulling the belt completely off and tossing it at Mickey.

“The fuck am I supposed to do with this?” Mickey said, even though he could think of about fifty-five things he could do with Gallagher and that thin black leather belt, and that was without even taking their clothes off.

Gallagher didn’t answer, instead turned his body as if he was looking at something but Mickey knew there wasn’t anything to look at – Gallagher was just giving him a clear view of his ass as he fixed his fingers in the belt loops of his jeans and slid them down from his hips. Mickey decided that he had had just about enough the moment Gallagher bent over to step out of pants and grab them in his hands, giving Mickey more than an eyeful of ass as he did so. His mouth was dry as fuck and he was so hard he had to fight not to put a hand in his pants and finish himself off right the fuck now, before Gallagher turned around again.

“Where should I put these?” Gallagher asked, turning to face him with a smug fucking look and hard cock out for all the fucking world to see. He was holding up his pants. Without another thought Mickey jumped up to smack either the pants out of his hands or the smug look off of his face, probably both. Mickey got his hands around Gallagher’s arms but then Gallagher caught his wrists in his hands, making Mickey lose his balance. Laughing and breathless, Mickey’s back hit the bed - Gallagher was above him, his body so hot and so close, his hard cock pressing into Mickey’s.

“How come you weren’t wearing any panties, G.I. Jane?” Mickey said, feeling fucking feverish with how badly he wanted Gallagher to fuck him already. “You plan this?”

“I didn’t plan shit, Mick,” Gallagher said, holding Mickey’s gaze before trailing his eyes down his body. He let go of Mickey’s wrists finally, one hand bracing the side of Mickey’s head while the other snapped the waistband of his pants. “If you really want to see me in some panties though, that’s something we can talk about later.”

“Vampires like cross-dressing, huh? Never heard of that one,” Mickey said, snaking a hand around to cup Gallagher’s ass, all pretense of wanting Gallagher to get the fuck out destroyed by the hard cock Mickey was pulling Gallagher down to press against.

“You still don’t believe me about being a vampire, do you?”

Mickey found it really hard to care about speaking at just that moment, and to be honest Mickey didn’t care if Gallagher was a vampire, a werewolf, or a fucking Keebler elf, as long as Mickey got to feel that hard cock in the places he liked to feel it most.

“Turn over,” Gallagher said.

“Don’t tell me what the fuck to do-“

Gallagher smiled, baring his teeth, and in an instant, as if a button was pushed, two pearly white fangs shot down in the front of Gallagher’s mouth to join the rest of his teeth, turning his smile from something innocent to something lethal.

_Shit._

Gallagher leaned down, one hand gripping Mickey’s shoulder now, his face buried in the crook of Mickey’s neck. He licked Mickey’s skin, all the way up to the base of his ear. Mickey shivered, digging his fingernails into Gallagher’s ass.

“Don’t make me tell you again,” Gallagher said, his voice hot in Mickey’s ear. He could feel a ghosting of sharp teeth – fangs, Jesus fuck actual fangs - on his skin.

Those weren’t fucking plastic dollar-store anything.

Gallagher’s dug his fingers into his hips, moving only enough to let Mickey twist around onto his stomach before pressing close against him again, his cock pressing against Mickey’s cloth-covered ass. Mickey pressed his ass back against him, trying not to let show how desperate he felt right now. Gallagher took hold of Mickey’s sweatpants and yanked them down, just enough so his ass was exposed, the waistband of his pants resting at the bottom of his cheeks. Mickey reached an arm out, trying to get to the lube and shit he kept in his drawer – he felt Gallagher’s hand gripping his arm, pulling it back roughly, back near his head. Gallagher pressed down, pushing his wrist into the mattress, pressing his body closer against Mickey’s, his hard cock pressing against the crack of Mickey’s ass.

“Who the fuck told you to move, Mickey?” Gallagher’s voice was low in his ear, tickling his skin, making him want to thrust into the fucking mattress.

“Fucking crazy if you think I’m letting you fuck me dry,” Mickey said, trying to ignore the way Gallagher was nosing at the back of his neck.

“Don’t move until I tell you to,” Gallagher said, and Mickey felt Gallagher’s hand on the back of his head, holding him to the bed as behind him Gallagher rustled around. He had half a mind to jump up and beat the shit out of Gallagher. So maybe those fangs looked real as fuck. That didn’t mean shit. Mickey could still take him, and he better not fucking ever forget it.

Mickey was about to get up and remind Gallagher of this fact when he felt a warm, slick finger pressing into him, Gallagher’s other hand gripping his hip.

“Shit,” Mickey hissed through his teeth, a sweet twist of both pain and pleasure making him arch into Gallagher. “How about a little fucking warning next-“

Two fingers. _Shit._ Gallagher was rocking against him, thrusting his fingers in time with his movements, and any protests Mickey had died right there on his tongue as any traces of pain dissipated to something that felt really fucking good and only promised to get better.

“Here’s your warning,” Gallagher said, voice low, and Mickey felt the thick heat of Gallagher’s cock pressing into him. If Mickey lived to be a million fucking years old he’d never get tired of Gallagher’s cock sinking all the way into his ass for that first thrust.

“Shit,” Mickey breathed, knowing that he could lose himself in this feeling dangerously quickly, but once Gallagher was in he didn’t move again. “You gonna fuck me or you just here to fucking hang out?” Mickey demanded, looking over his shoulder.

Gallagher placed a hand on the small of Mickey’s back, spreading his palm against Mickey’s skin, making Mickey feel like fire was spreading from his fingertips.

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing,” Gallagher said, and when he spoke Mickey could see his fangs catching the stray light from outside. Mickey fought back a groan. “I want to see you fuck yourself on my cock, Mick.”

Mickey turned his head into the bed, feeling so full and so fucking horny he could barely even breathe.

“Fuck no,” he said into the sheets.

Gallagher’s other hand gripped his hip tighter, and he drew back to pound into Mickey one good time, in such a way that drove Mickey onto the tips of his toes for a moment before he crashed back down again, feeling delirious with pleasure. That was his only explanation for the way he thrust back onto Gallagher after Gallagher had already stopped moving, over and over, working himself on Gallagher’s cock.

Fuck it, Mickey thought, and closed his eyes, losing himself in how good it felt to twist back onto Gallagher’s cock and hit that spot deep inside him every time, how completely fucking crazy it made him feel to think of Gallagher’s fangs bared and feel Gallagher gripping his ass, grabbing a handful to hold onto and kneading it as Mickey pushed back against him.

“Shit, Mickey, yeah – fuck, just like that,” Gallagher breathed, so low Mickey almost couldn’t hear him, and Mickey could feel Gallagher’s nails dragging along his body, sliding from the small of his back to hips to his ass and back again. “You look so fucking good like this.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey said, reaching for his own cock. In an instant Mickey’s hand was knocked away, with a quick hiss of “who told you to touch yourself,” and Mickey would say this dominant shit Gallagher had decided to play once the fangs came out was getting old, except Gallagher had moved closer, pressing himself against Mickey’s back, all notions of Mickey doing all the work gone. He was fucking Mickey in earnest now, each thrust sending them both rocking forcefully against the bed, feeling so painfully good that Mickey couldn’t help gripping the sheets in his hands.

Mickey was grateful for the friction the bed afforded him, his cock rubbing against the sheets, so close to offering him the sweet release he was careening toward. Gallagher was breathing heavy into his ear, both hands now gripping Mickey’s hips as he pounded into him.

An image of Gallagher’s face floated to the forefront of his mind – Gallagher from earlier, his fangs unhidden, and Mickey found himself speaking before he could even register what he was saying:

“I wanna feel ‘em,” Mickey said. In the next instant, he felt Gallagher’s arm snake around him, pulling him closer so that Mickey’s back was pressed flush against Gallagher’s chest, and Mickey felt Gallagher’s fangs pressing into – but not piercing - the skin of his neck, Gallagher’s warm, panting breath spreading heat throughout his entire body.

Jesus fucking _fuck_.

Within moments Mickey was spilling onto the covers, thrusting back onto Gallagher’s cock in wild, needy ways he might be embarrassed about later. Gallagher still had his mouth on him, his tongue pressed flat and hot against Mickey’s skin, his fangs just pressing down, so damn close to breaking skin. Gallagher’s arm tightened around Mickey, pulling him impossibly closer as he fucked Mickey’s ass with the kind of fast, desperate thrusts that Mickey knew meant he was about to come too, until finally: “Shit, _Mickey_.”

After a few moments, Mickey collapsed against the covers; Gallagher collapsed against him. Gallagher was breathing heavily, burying his face between Mickey’s shoulder blades. Mickey kinda felt like he never wanted either of them to move ever again, but he pressed past the feeling.

“Get off,” he mumbled, jostling Gallagher with his body. Gallagher groaned, pulling out of Mickey gently and stepping back to throw away the condom.

Mickey stood up, staring at the bed sheets, forlorn, until Gallagher came to stand next to him.

“We make a mess?” he asked. Mickey could hear the smile in his voice.

“Your fault,” Mickey said, and grabbed the covers, pulling them off. He found an old throw blanket underneath his bed and shook it out briefly before fanning it onto the bed. Gallagher immediately moved to straighten out the other side beyond Mickey’s reach, so that the blanket lay flat against his mattress. Mickey felt a delirious, wild desire to smile. He didn’t fight it this time. When Gallagher caught him, he looked like he wanted to get down on one knee and propose. Damn post-fuck hormones or whatever, always fucked up Mickey in the head.

“Shut up,” Mickey said, and picked up Gallagher’s shirt, using it to wipe the come off of his dick.

“Really?” Gallagher said, eyeing his shirt in Mickey’s hand, eyebrows raised. Mickey threw the shirt down, not taking his eyes off Gallagher.

“You got something to say?”

“You know I have to wear that out of here.”

“Stop bitchin’, you can take one’a mine.” Before Gallagher could do or say anything else, Mickey collapsed onto the bed again, lying on his stomach and closing his eyes. He reached around his bedside table for his cigarettes, was impressed when he managed to light one without even opening his eyes.

“You ever tell me what to do again and I’ll fucking kill you,” Mickey said without opening his eyes, trying not to sigh at the sweet sore ache in his ass. Gallagher didn’t respond. “We clear, fang-boy?”

“Crystal,” he heard Gallagher say, followed by the bed dipping with his weight. He held out the cigarette and Gallagher took it; a moment passed, and he returned it to Mickey’s hand. Mickey was bringing it back to his lips when he felt Gallagher slap his ass, one quick little slap to his left cheek. Mickey’s eyes shot open, but Gallagher was already half-way across the room, pulling on his jeans and looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Gallagher!” Mickey yelled around the cigarette in his mouth. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”

“Never felt better.” Mickey could see the fangs peeking from the edges of Gallagher’s smile, and Mickey wondered briefly about how it all worked, retracting them and all that shit. He watched him as he dug out one of Mickey’s old shirts from a pile on the ground, pulling it on without even smell-testing it. There was a half-empty 2-liter of Coke on Mickey’s dresser and Gallagher grabbed it, uncapping it to down half of what was left without even asking.

“Who the fuck ever heard of a ghetto vampire anyway?” Mickey said after a beat passed.

“It’s not like the movies,” Gallagher said, shrugging at him. Then – “Does that mean you believe me?”

Mickey snorted, closing his eyes again and resettling into the bed.

“Fuck no.”

“You will,” Gallagher said. Mickey didn’t bother to open his eyes - not even when Gallagher felt the need to slap his ass again before heading back to the window.

“No, I won’t,” Mickey mumbled, but Gallagher didn’t respond. Mickey opened his eyes – Gallagher was already gone.

**Author's Note:**

> As you've probably noticed, Ian is a mix of lots of pop culture vamp mythology (Twilight and True Blood being a couple of them). I really had fun making up this universe, which will become more apparent in future stories. (God, I don’t know how this became a series, all I know is that I wrote a lot more in this world and kind of got really deep into it). My first foray into Gallavich fanfiction, so please let me know what you think, alright?


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